


We Could Almost Be Twins

by Mackem



Category: Fake News RPF, The Daily Show
Genre: Blow Jobs, Humor, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:18:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackem/pseuds/Mackem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen worries about narcissism. Ed doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Could Almost Be Twins

Stephen had been thinking about it for awhile. Well, perhaps it would be better to say that the idea had been relentlessly gnawing at his thoughts since he and Ed had embarked upon their secret fumblings together. It started with Wikipedia, on one of those occasions he chose to furtively look up his co-stars when he should have been working: " _Helms is sometimes confused with Stephen Colbert because both played the same type of role and some viewers believe the two look like one another._ "  
  
That had certainly been an eye-opener. People thought he looked like Ed? Like... _Ed_? A man he now regarded as the best-kept secret in the world of stationary cupboard make-outs? Not that he assumed there were league tables of furtive sex, but if there were - but that was beside the point. Hell, Ed being great in bed (or, more accurately, in cupboards) just made the situation worse, if the two men really did look alike. What the hell did that say about Stephen? That he thought a man who looked like himself was a great lay? It sounded uncomfortably close to sexual self-desire to Stephen.  
  
He had asked around, quizzing his co-workers in the Report studio on what they thought about the both of them physically. To his chagrin, most people had admitted that they could definitely see a similarity between Ed and himself. Even Jon, for god's sake, had cheerfully commented that he and Ed, "Are like two peas in a very twisted pod." That had earned Jon a glare, and a very undignified pout.  
  
So the next time Ed called into his office on one of his days off, grinning widely and eyes gleaming behind his glasses, Stephen had dragged him into the stationary cupboard, as usual. He had honestly meant to sit him down and have a serious discussion about what this physical similarity and his attraction to it meant about the state of his mind. He had meant to talk to the younger man about it calmly and coolly. He had _not_ meant to blurt out his worries in the middle of a very nice, rather passionate kiss.  
  
"Is this narcissistic?" Stephen groaned to himself as he mentally replayed his words, realizing he had not quite moaned the words of encouragement he had meant to. Hopefully, Ed wouldn't notice -  
  
"What?" He sighed as Ed pulled away, hair ruffled and face wearing a bewildered expression. Stephen stumbled over possible explanations for a second - "I meant to say something else" (the cover-up), "Let's role-play as each other" (the kinky), "Please stick your tongue down my throat again" (the no-nonsense) - before deciding he may as well plough on regardless, the mood being apparently ruined by his runaway mouth.   
  
"This. Me. You. Are we narcissistic?"  
  
"Is this a leading question? Do you want to make out in front of a mirror?" Ed hazarded, apparently unfazed as he unfastened the top few buttons of his simple blue shirt.   
  
"No, idiot," Stephen sighed. "Firstly, I'm forty-two. I don't 'make out' with people."  
  
"What the hell do you call this, then?" Ed laughed, making a point that was far too reasonable for Stephen's liking. He thought quickly, trying to find a term that didn't sound so damn adolescent.  
  
"It's...it's fooling around," he insisted crossly, giving Ed a petulant prod in the shoulder. Ed stepped easily away and shook his head, laughing.  
  
"Whatever you want to call it," Ed grinned. "I'm thirty-two, and I say we're making out."  
  
"Stop changing the subject," Stephen protested. "I want to talk about how wrong this whole thing is."  
  
"Oh, but baby, how can it be wrong when it just feels so _right_?" Stephen grimaced when Ed purred cheesily, blue eyes gleaming as he apparently channeled every greasy lothario in the world and directed them straight at Stephen.  
  
"You're fucking terrible," he grumbled, leaning against the cupboard's door and defensively crossing his arms. "I'm making out - _fooling around_ with a man with the mind of a child. Ed, I'm asking you if you think I'm mentally fucked-up, and you're cracking jokes!"  
  
"Stephen -"  
  
" - _bad_ jokes, at that."  
  
"Okay, okay," Ed laughed, making vaguely soothing gestures with his hands. "Calm down. Explain this to me, before that vein in your forehead explodes." Brown eyes frowned as Stephen wondered how to express his confused thoughts as Ed began to roll his sleeves up to his forearms.  
  
"People say you look like me," he explained, running his hands through his hair, before giving Ed an annoyed glare as another thought struck him. "A younger me, apparently," he went on, crossly, remembering every time someone had added this all-important opinion after confirming his worries. "A me the ravages of time presumably haven't wreaked their havoc on. A less-decrepit, a less-old, a less -"  
  
" - A less-rambling you," Ed interrupted, moving to stand opposite Stephen with his hands on his hips. "Get to the point."  
  
"That _was_ the point," Stephen huffed. "I look like you, apparently, so making - _fooling around_ with you is incredibly narcissistic, yes?"  
  
"Only if YOU think I look like you," Ed pointed out, hands snaking to rest on Stephen's hips gently. "And even then, only if you think I look like you, and that's _why_ you're making out with me." Stephen frowned as Ed untucked his shirt, sliding his hands to rub circles onto his pale skin, finding himself unwilling to stop the younger man's movements. " _Do_ you think we look alike?" He hesitated, then raised his hand to brush through Ed's hair lightly.  
  
"You have dark hair," he declared, his tone unsure as his hand moved down to stroke Ed's cheek. "And...and glasses."  
  
"We could almost be twins!" Ed scoffed, pulling Stephen closer and bumping their hips together. "Dark hair and glasses. Jesus, Stephen, by that logic you look like half of the population of the world."  
  
"It's more than that!" Stephen protested, nevertheless pressing closer to Ed, his hand on his shoulder. "You don't see any resemblance between us?" He swallowed as Ed raised his head sharply, giving him a bright, wicked grin with shining eyes.  
  
"Let me see," he murmured, pulling his hands from beneath Stephen's shirt. He gave Stephen a calculating look, then pushed him back against the door, slow but unstoppable. "I'm taller than you," he murmured, pressing his hands against Stephen's shoulders and bending a little way to kiss his faintly protesting lips. His thigh slowly, insistently wormed its way between Stephen's legs and parted them slightly. "Barely, I know, but it's true. And," he grinned, his fingertips dancing over Stephen's chest as they slowly unbuttoned his shirt. "You're paler than me." He bent his head further, kissing at Stephen's creamy, delicate throat before slowly working his way down his exposed chest. "I have more chest hair than you."  
  
"Hell, Sam probably has more chest hair than me," Stephen scoffed, but quietly, subdued. "They call me the hairless wonder."  
  
"You say more stupid things than I do," Ed laughed, looking fondly up at Stephen as he slid smoothly to his knees. "Especially during sex. Need more ways we don't look alike?"  
  
"I think I do," Stephen murmured, his hands twining weakly in Ed's hair, his eyes warm and happy.  
  
"You wear completely different clothes to me," Ed pointed out, tugging Stephen's hips closer by his belt. His talented hands unfastened it, working at the zipper on his jeans. "I'd never wear this belt, for a start. Right now, you shouldn't be wearing it, either. Or these pants."  
  
"I'm willing to listen to your fashion criticism this one time," Stephen near-whimpered as Ed's lips feathered over his abdomen, thrusting the unfastened jeans down to his thighs. Talented hands toyed with the waistband of his boxer shorts before sliding them down to meet his pants.  
  
"You know how else we're different?" Ed asked cheerily, his fingers fanning over Stephen's trembling thighs and his breath hot against the skin of his lower belly. Stephen swallowed with difficulty, and shook his head.  
  
"N-no...how?"  
  
"You don't have a cock in your mouth. I do." And, as Stephen gasped, Ed proved himself right.


End file.
